


i believe in seasons, not different variations of warm

by sixturns



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Based on a Tumblr Post, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-04-05 20:06:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4193211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixturns/pseuds/sixturns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the 100 take on college, and it does not go how they expect. </p>
<p>based off a "things i've actually heard college students say" post by tumblr user mellarkish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ark u is miserably hot

**Author's Note:**

> "when the professor shows up I'm gonna get up, make eye contact, and leave"
> 
>  
> 
> disclaimer: i'm not in college yet, i don't start until the fall, so i'm basing this purely off stuff i've seen in movies/tv shows/have read in books. 
> 
> anyway, each chapter of this story is going to revolve/mention one phrase from this tumblr post i saw and thought was hilarious. hopefully i do them justice. i'm estimating this to be around 14 chapters? maybe more/less. i'm very indecisive.

Classes at Ark University started the third week of August, just in time for hundreds upon hundreds of students to move in and feel their souls leave them, only to be replaced with sweltering heat and muggy misery. 

Or at least, that’s how Bellamy saw it. He was beginning his third year at Ark U and still had not developed a tolerance for the heat. He was used to living in a climate that had _seasons,_ not slightly different variations of warm. 

Bellamy thought about this for an unprecedentedly long time as he crossed campus to his first class. (A class on Ancient and Medieval Europe, which was _definitely_ not a nerd thing, no matter what Octavia said, because he was taking this class for his _major._ ) 

(Mostly. Part of it was a deep-seated childhood fascination.)

Bellamy entered the lecture hall and took a seat in a middle row, near the end. He was sitting next to a girl with blonde hair, a distinctly panicked expression on her face. If he had to guess, he would’ve assumed she was a freshman, but this class was reserved to students with junior standing only, so he figured she was a transfer. She looked familiar, but Bellamy couldn’t quite place her face in his memory. 

He’d resolved to keep his eyes on his phone and appear distracted as to discourage conversation, a one-inch binder on the desk in front of him and his bag on the floor beside his leg. The room was fairly quiet, with the exception of a few murmurs every now and then. The professor was due to show up any minute, and he’d heard a lot of great things about this one, so--

“Are you Octavia’s brother?” The girl asked him suddenly, like she’d steeled herself to ask that question.

He looked at her. “Uh. Yeah. Who are you?”

“I’m, uh, her roommate? Clarke? We met like, super briefly last week when you were helping her move in?” Her previous familiarity made sense, now. Bellamy was the RA for the floor right above Octavia’s, so he hadn’t had much time to do more than help her move in her stuff and say a quick hello to her roommate on his way out. 

“Oh yeah. Nice to meet you again, Clarke.” He paused. “You’re a freshman, right?”

She nodded. “Yeah. That has to do with my next question, actually. I’m in the wrong room, aren’t I?”

“Then yeah, definitely. Unless you’re supposed to be taking a class on Ancient and Medieval Europe.”

Clarke seemed to deflate. “Do you have any idea where this Math for the Fine Arts class could be?”

“Math _for the Fine Arts?_ ”

Clarke laughed, a light giggle that Bellamy was hard-pressed to find a descriptor for it that didn’t include the words _bells, chimes,_ or _tinkling._ “Yeah, I have no idea what it is either, but I guess my best bet would be to just leave and hopefully find it?”

“If you leave now, you might make it before your actual class starts.”

“Actually, my plan is that when the professor shows up, I’m just gonna get up, make eye contact, and leave.” 

It was as if she summoned him; the professor waltzed in the door and closed it with a resounding slam. Silence immediately fell upon the room, anticipation hanging in the air like a heavy cloud. 

That’s when Clarke stood up, pushing back her chair loud enough that you could hear the scrape across campus. The professor looked at her, dumbstruck. Clarke stared back, a defiant tilt to her chin. Bellamy thought she looked almost regal.

Then she gathered her things and left. Bellamy was amazed, partly because he’d assumed she was joking when she said it, and partly because she’d seemed so timid when he’d arrived. 

(He also made a mental note to warn O that her roommate was a little insane.)


	2. dogs with sunglasses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "yo look at this dog! I want this dog. This dog is a straight g"

Aside from her horrendous first day, Clarke considered her first week of college a success. Her roommate was chill and her classes were equal parts enjoyable and challenging (so far), so she figured this whole college thing wasn’t going to be completely miserable.

Coming to Ark U at the other end of the eastern seaboard instead of Mount Weather College back home had been a big step for her. She was leaving everything she knew for the first time and had to set down roots in a new place. Her mother certainly hadn’t been pleased, harping on about Mount Weather’s amazing pre-med program and how it wasn’t _too late to switch majors just in case this art hobby of yours isn’t something you want to pursue, honey._

If she was being completely honest, Clarke didn’t have many regrets about leaving her hometown. Only one stuck like barbed wire in her heart, and that was leaving Wells. He’d gone the poli-sci route to eventually enact his plan for world domination, and Mount Weather had the best program and the best connections for him to do it.

“Don’t worry about me, Clarke,” Wells had said, laughing off the impending miles between them like it had been a particularly funny joke. “Go paint stuff and be the starving artist you’ve always wanted to be. We’ll skype so often you won’t even notice the distance.”

Clarke had laughed with him, feeling lighter with his reassurance. “‘Go paint stuff’? Way to make my degree sound highly important and official, Mr. President.”

Now, as she left her dorm and locked the door behind her, Clarke wished she had the ability to make friends with people she hadn’t already known since birth or very early childhood. She’d even accept the gift of small talk, if that meant it’d make the conversation she was about to have run a little smoother. 

There were two guys at the end of the hallway, one wearing a pair of goggles on top of his head and the other wearing a shirt for a tv show Clarke had seen a few episodes of last year.

Between them was a dog. Specifically, a golden retriever. Wearing sunglasses. 

As Clarke approached, she heard the tail-end of their conversation.

“...can’t keep a dog, Jasper!”

“There’s nothing that says we _can’t_ keep one.”

“Yes, there is! It’s in the code of conduct, and the RA said no every single time you asked him. Which was _three times._ ”

 

They stopped abruptly when they noticed Clarke, looking slightly panicked and edging in front of the dog, though the combined spindly-ness of their legs didn’t do much in terms of hiding.

The dog barked. Clarke raised an eyebrow. 

“You guys know I can still see the dog, right? Also, you’re right in front of a staircase. If you wanted to actually hide it, you probably should’ve gone somewhere else.”

“A dog is a man’s best friend, and I refuse to hide my future best friend,” Jasper said confidently, his goggles slipping down on his head to rest just above his eyebrows. His friend beside him actually winced.

“I’m sorry about him, home training is hard to enforce when you’re not at home.” The guy stuck out his hand. “I’m Monty, and this is Jasper.”

Clarke took it and smiled, feeling ease wash over her. “I’m Clarke. Where’d you find the dog?”

Jasper lit up immediately, actually bouncing on his feet. Clarke stifled a laugh. “Listen. We were walking up the stairs, minding our own business, right? When out of _thin air_ this dog just shows up on the top landing. And he’s wearing sunglasses! So I was like, yo, Monty, look at this dog. I want this dog. This dog is a straight g--”

“And then I told him to never utter those words in my presence ever again and that we can’t keep a dog because of the very real rules forbidding it that we need to follow,” Monty interrupted, his cheeks taking on an embarrassed flush.

“He’s wearing sunglasses!” Jasper repeated, as if this was somehow the solution to all of their pet-related problems. 

“How do you know the dog is a boy?” Clarke asked, figuring this was a fairly neutral question. 

Jasper’s face screwed up in confusion. “I guess we don’t. I just assumed, to be honest.. We could check though.”

They all moved to look at the dog, but it was gone. Vanished. No where to be found in the hallway or the stairwell. 

Clarke wondered if they’d all suffered from a joint hallucination.

Monty pointed his fingers at the empty space. “There was definitely a dog here just now, right? We didn’t accidentally eat the batch of pot brownies instead of the regular ones this morning, right?”

Jasper looked equal parts destroyed and confused, so Clarke answered instead. “There was definitely a dog. I heard it bark and everything.” She paused. “Also, pot brownies? In the morning?”

Monty’s eyes widened, his face paling a few shades, like he realized he probably shouldn’t throw around the words _pot brownies_ so casually, and he opened his mouth to most likely deny it but Clarke just laughed. 

“Don’t worry about it. I was questioning the morning part, not the pot brownies part.”

Monty shrugged, looking vaguely relieved. “Any time is a good time for brownies, special or otherwise.”

“Including now?”

Jasper snapped out of his brief mourning period and eagerly grabbed her hand, pulling her up the stairs to his and Monty’s suite (how’d they manage to get a fucking suite freshmen year?). Monty followed closely behind her, starting easy conversation when she pointed out the design on his shirt. 

Later, during a Skype call with Wells, Clarke would tell him how she made her first two real friends in college.


	3. don't go to the bar your brother works at

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i got super drunk and told everyone i was a lesbian

Octavia Blake loved college. She loved everything about it-- the classes, the freedom, the parties, and the ability to order pizza on her meal plan.

The one thing she did not love was her brother breathing down her fucking neck, acting like a parent with really bad separation anxiety even though she saw him every day. Twice, if it was Wednesday. He was the RA of the floor above hers, for Christ’s sake!

(Deep down, Octavia knew why he did it. She did the same thing every time he came to see her at their grandmother’s house for holidays his first two years away at Ark U.)

However, the fact of the matter was that Octavia was a girl who just wanted to enjoy a good party.

She first heard about Polis from Harper, one of her co-workers at the coffee shop she worked at for pocket money. 

“Come _on,_ Octavia!” Harper begged, a month and a half into the school year and a few weeks into their tentative friendship. “Polis is supposed to be the greatest bar in town. Blows The Dropship right out of the water.” Harper was a sophomore at Ark U and enjoyed opportunities to influence today’s youth and impart odd bits of motherly wisdom, like wearing sunscreen on overcast days to avoid cloudburn.

Octavia raised an eyebrow, her focus split between the dishes she was currently washing and the puppy dog expression on Harper’s face.

“I’m working every day this week except Thursday, Harper.” Thursday, where she intended to get all the homework she didn’t have time to do earlier in week done.

“Then let’s go Thursday! I’ll get Monroe to cover my shift, we won’t have to go to a bar where our alcohol intake is limited by your brother, and we’ll have _fun._ ”

Octavia supposed if she just managed her time really well this week, she could have a little fun. God knows she could use it. 

Going to a bar that her brother didn’t work at was a plus, too.

On Thursday morning, Octavia woke up to find that her roommate was already gone. Early morning sunlight spilled in through the blinds, shadows criss-crossing over her body. A quick glance at the clock revealed that it was seven in the morning, which was far earlier than Octavia wanted or needed to be conscious. She closed her eyes.

She woke up again three hours later, this time not to the sun, but to Clarke and two skinny boys rummaging around on Clarke’s side of the room. They were trying to be quiet, and Octavia had to give them credit because they weren’t doing such a bad job.

“ _Shit,_ ” Clarke whispered when she noticed her, an apologetic smile gracing her face. There was a paint smudge on her cheek, but Octavia was used to seeing Clarke with various kinds of smudges in various weird places. “Sorry, Octavia. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Octavia yawned, sitting upright and stretching. “It’s alright. I’m a light sleeper. What were you looking for?”

Clarke’s friend with the goggles--Jasper, if Octavia was remembering correctly-- opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Octavia stifled a chuckle, because at this point, everyone in the room was aware that Jasper had a massive crush on Octavia that somehow translated into him being unable to form basic sentences. Or thoughts.

“I got a new set of brushes in the mail a few weeks ago, threw them somewhere in here, and now I need them and I can’t find them.” Clarke said it dismally, like it was something she experienced often. Frankly, Octavia didn’t doubt it. She thought _she_ was messy until she met Clarke.

“Have you checked the bottom of your closet? That’s where you found your colored pencil set last week.” As Clarke jumped up to check-- and subsequently shouted in victory when she found them-- Octavia gathered her shower kit, towel, and bathrobe.

Octavia headed out of the room, waving a quick goodbye to Clarke and her friends, and shuffled over to the communal bathroom. She hated it, but there were only two years until she reached junior standing and could dorm in the on-campus apartments.

At one pm, Octavia returned to her dorm after grabbing a quick lunch with Harper at the Student Union. She wasn’t expecting Clarke to be there, because she honestly was not sure where Clarke went or what she did, because Clarke was fucking weird. Octavia never made an attempt to understand anything about her roommate’s habits and just accepted them as they came. Bellamy had warned her on the first day that Clarke might be a little insane, and it was the only time Octavia had ever given weight to her brother’s paranoia.

But Clarke was sitting on the edge of her bed, back erect as if there was a rod jammed down her spine. She looked tense. Octavia paused in the doorway, overhearing Clarke’s end of the conversation.

“I’m not switching majors, Mom.” Clarke said tightly. “I am happy where I am.” There was silence as she listened to her mother speak. “Yes, I’ve spoken to Wells, and yes, I know how well he’s doing at Mount Weather. What Wells does at school does not affect me.”

Octavia knocked on the door, just a couple of light taps to let her presence be known. Clarke gave her a tired smile and nodded her head. Octavia tip-toed her way quietly into the room, resting her bag on the floor against her bedpost. She sat at her desk, unsure of what she should be doing at the moment.

“Yes. Okay. Bye Mom.” Clarke hung up, flopped face first into her pillow, and screamed. 

When she stopped, Octavia walked over and patted her back in what she hoped was a reassuring gesture. “So, bad talk?” It was not the first time she had walked in on Clarke having a difficult conversation with her mother, and she was sure it wouldn’t be the last. They occurred bi-weekly.

Clarke made a noise into her pillow that sounded vaguely like a _yes_.

Octavia continued on. “I’m going to this new bar with my friend Harper tonight. Polis, I think it’s called? Supposed to be ten times better than The Dropship, which is not very hard to achieve if you ask me. Do you want to come? You can bring those two stringy kids you hang out with all the time.” Octavia gave a large grin for good measure. 

She had never really hung out with Clarke outside of their dorm room and the occasional meal at the Student Union. (Clarke was vehemently determined to pay for everything in what Octavia assumed was a way to spite her mother. Well-off people were strange. She didn’t protest when it benefitted her.) Octavia decided she was going to change that.

“Their names are Monty and Jasper,” Clarke murmured. She lifted her head, an eye peeking out from the pillow. “But yeah, they are pretty stringy. Also, Jasper is obsessed with you, so he might explode after this invitation and not be able to make it.”

Octavia shrugged. “We can drink in his honor.”

***

Later, when Clarke showed Octavia her outfit for the bar, Octavia forcibly pushed her back into her closet with orders to find something that _wasn’t_ paint-stained or looked like it belonged in the closet of a Catholic primary school teacher. When this failed, Octavia opened up her closet and picked something she felt would push Clarke out of her comfort zone just enough that she’d might get a few numbers while they were out. It was a deep blue dress that form-fitted to Clarke’s body, where she had enough curves that didn’t warrant the need for more exposure. Octavia knew that Clarke was definitely the kind of girl who preferred leaving things to the imagination.

(Octavia also knew that Clarke had a thing for sweaters, scarves, and big t-shirts, she just didn’t realize that it probably qualified as _psychological affliction_ rather than just a _thing_.)

Jasper and Monty waited outside the room for them, wearing clothes that were slightly nicer than usual and okay bar attire. Jasper turned red when Octavia complimented them both, stuttering out a thank you that took seven less tries than usual.

As they left the building and piled into Harper’s car, Octavia felt confident that the night was going to go her way. She was wearing a black tight-fitting dress with a back that dipped lower than her brother would have approved of (that might’ve been why she’d hidden it deep in her suitcase when he helped her move in), and straps that criss-crossed all over. Her eye makeup was dark and heavy, because Octavia wanted to feel sexy and maybe make some other people feel it, too. 

Where The Dropship was a hole-in-the-wall bar that was walking distance from campus and known for cheap beer that didn’t taste completely terrible and dim lighting, Polis was futuristic and bright; Octavia felt like she was walking into a spaceship. There was a dance floor packed with people and strobe lights bouncing off of them. The music was loud, pulsing in the air. Octavia felt the vibrations in her bones, in her stomach.

They’d been in Polis for all of five minutes and Octavia loved every second of it.

She headed immediately to the bar, pulling Clarke and Harper by the wrists and assuming that Jasper and Monty would follow. Octavia believed in a liberal use of elbows to get through crowds and implemented that belief to push her way to the front. Dozens of people were pushed up against the bar, barking drink orders to a bartender who looked completely at ease, despite it all.

When the bartender turned to them to finally take their order, hopefully without asking for ID, Octavia met his eyes.

And she was gone. (Later, she would speculate that it was definitely the hardest she’d ever fallen for anyone in her entire life.)

The bartender was named Lincoln, his older sister owned Polis, and he had tattoos sprawling all over his body. Octavia had the sudden, intense need to trace them with her fingers.

She had grinned widely, placed their orders, and it took all of her willpower not to remain a fixture at the bar for the rest of night, sipping on sweet, fruity drinks while her friends partied on the dance floor. 

Harper was dancing in the center, all eyes on her while she soaked up the attention like a sponge in water.

Clarke was flirting pretty heavily with a girl who was wearing heavy eye make-up, the shadow and light playing on her face in a way that made her appear sultry and menacingly beautiful. Clarke looked like she loved it.

Octavia checked in on Jasper and Monty, who were chugging their drinks with alarming speed and mumbling about how “what we make is definitely stronger”. She decided that she really didn’t want to know much more.

Harper pulled her out for a dance after knocking back a round of shots with the boys, who had decided the alcohol needed a little bit more _kick_.

If Octavia was being honest, she remembered very little after that; beyond grabbing the hot bartender’s arm, scribbling her number with a sharpie she scrounged up from the depths of Clarke’s purse, and winking, the night was lost in a haze of alcohol.

***

Octavia woke up around noon with a hangover from the very depths of hell itself. Satan had probably gifted it personally to her.

Sunlight filtered in through the blinds, dappling both her and Clarke in alternating patches of bright and dark. 

It was another minute before Octavia realized that the pounding she heard was not, in fact, inside her head, but coming from the door. She groaned and threw her only pillow at Clarke, hoping she’d be the one to get up and open it. She later regretted that decision when she realized she was now pillowless and had nothing to muffle the noise with. 

Clarke made a noise that sounded like a cross between several very large and dying mammals, like a whale and a hippopotamus, and weakly threw the pillow back. It landed in the dead space between them, where neither was willing to get up and retrieve it. 

Two minutes later, Octavia got up and opened the door.

It was her brother, because really, who else could it fucking be?

“O?” He asked, slightly concerned but mostly annoyed that it took her that long to answer the door. 

“Bell, I’m hungover and before you give me a lecture about underage drinking, just remember how you feel when you’re hungover, experience a little bit of sympathy for once in your life, and we can bond over this beautiful moment tomorrow. Also, don’t knock again, because Clarke is hungover too.” She shut the door in his face before his offended expression had time to manifest.

Octavia heard his _Atlas-shrugged_ sigh as she flopped back down onto her bed. 

“Your brother?” Clarke asked, her voice sounding groggy. Octavia grunted an affirmative. 

“Remind me to never drink anything Monty and Jasper provide ever again,” Octavia said firmly, glaring at the blinds as if she could make them close with her mind.

Clarke laughed, a quick, short giggle that was immediately cut off when it aggravated her headache on. She groaned again. “I’m at least ninety percent sure I got super drunk and told everyone I was a lesbian.”

Octavia vaguely remembered that, but she could more clearly remember Clarke making out with a girl in heavy eye make-up. “Well, are you?”

There were a few moments of silence as Clarke pondered the answer to that question. “I like girls but I also like guys, so I’m going to go with bi instead of lesbian.”

Octavia smiled. “Cool.”

The next day, when Bellamy lectured her about the dangers of underage drinking (he was mostly just mad he wasn’t there to supervise, which was, you know, the whole goddamn point of going to Polis), Octavia would adamantly let him know that his original judgement of Clarke was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the little bit of delay, but this past weekend was super busy. i did some import Life Milestone things like graduate from high school. which, you know, is pretty cool.


	4. in which an innocent bowl of frosted flakes is made the victim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shut the fuck up and eat your shitty frosted flakes

Miller was certain that he hated his roommate. In fact, he was so certain about it that he actively made the effort to be in his room as little as possible. Bellamy had a single because he was an RA, and since Bellamy had a best friend obligation to save him whenever necessary, Miller was around all the time.

He was around so often that he had a box of frosted flakes, a bowl, and milk stored in a bin beneath his lofted bed. A line of tape with MILLER written in sharpie stretched across the front, just in case. Bellamy’s little sister was always around and messing with shit because she was a high-key klepto trying to be low-key about it. He tolerated it mostly because where Octavia was, so was her roommate Clarke, and with Clarke came Monty, whom Miller may or may not have had a small crush on.

There were few circumstances under which he was willing to outwardly express his feelings, and those moments were reserved for extreme torture and someone eating his goddamn frosted flakes.

It was seven am when Miller’s roommate, Murphy, woke up. Or, more accurately, his fucking alarm clock went off because Murphy was _fucking crazy_ and taking an _eight am class_ because he did not value his own sanity or the sanity of those around him.

It was a Monday, Wednesday, and Friday class. Three times a week, Murphy woke Miller up and three times a week, Miller wrapped himself in a blanket, tucked a pillow under his arm, and travelled the short distance to Bellamy’s room down the hall.

He didn’t knock when he got there, just opened the door with a key he had copied (definitely illegally) and proceeded to pass out on the small couch. Bellamy grunted in acknowledgement from his bed and rolled over. Honestly, if someone who wasn’t Miller decided to turn up one day, Bellamy would be fucked.

Miller slept soundly until nine when someone started banging on Bellamy’s door like all hell was about to break loose. He cracked open an eyelid, grimacing at the bright light flooding the room. It was Wednesday, and his first class started at noon. There was absolutely zero reason for him to be awake before eleven.

Bellamy groaned but got up, rubbing a fist in his eye as if he could beat out the exhaustion. Miller decided attempting to sleep for another two hours was pointless, and made his way toward his cereal box.

He focused on methodically pouring the flakes and getting the right milk to cereal ratio, because the only thing worse than having no frosted flakes at all was having _soggy_ frosted flakes. The front door squeaked as it opened, grating against Miller’s ears. He glanced up, mildly curious. Usually, if someone had a question, they would go to the College Office on the first floor of the building and ask the RA on duty, or the RHD.

The banging on Bellamy’s door at nine am happened every once in a while, but usually the people with the questions were weird as fuck. Miller tried not to judge, because he remembered what it was like to be a confused freshman, but the other day a junior showed up asking if he could keep piranha in a tank beside his bed. There wasn’t much someone could say about that.

(The answer was no, because apparently someone else had done the same thing a few years back, and as a result, the university had added a clause to the _fish allowed as pets_ rule.)

The door was open a crack, Bellamy’s body taking up most of the frame. Just over his shoulder, Miller could see blonde hair tied up in a bun. He rolled his eyes and sat down, leaning back a little in his chair. Seeing Bellamy and Clarke interact was always fun to watch. It made him realize that his crush on Monty was not nearly as pathetic as the crushes they had on each other.

“Tell O that _no_ , she can’t borrow my car, for the thousandth time, because she _doesn’t have a license._ ”

Clarke sounded indignant. “You’re forgetting that _I_ do, and we won’t even be long. Two hours, tops.”

“There’s no fucking way I’m letting you drive my car.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s _my fucking car?_ ” Clarke huffed, looking past Bellamy’s shoulder. Her eyes fell on Miller and she waved.

“Regular Wednesday, Miller?”

Miller nodded, raising his bowl slightly. The milk sloshed over the lip and spilled, splashing onto the table. Miller felt rather than saw Bellamy's glare, and continued eating his cereal as if nothing had happened.

Clarke pushed her way into the room (which, honestly, Bellamy let happen. They're so fucking obvious it made Miller sick.).

“Miller, what’s your opinion on this?” She asked him as she pulled out a chair and sat down. She crossed her arms, face set in a determined expression. Miller felt vaguely worried for his safety in case he answered wrong, and then wondered how he’d fallen so far as to be intimidated by a freshman.

He spared another glance at Clarke over a spoonful of cereal and then decided that she probably intimidated everyone she met. Bellamy stood near the door, frowning and pretending like he was angry with the way the situation was turning out.

Miller shrugged. “Don’t involve me in your weird foreplay.”

Bellamy made a weird choking noise and Clarke’s cheeks colored. She shifted in her seat but tried to pretend like she was otherwise unruffled. Miller smirked into his bowl.

“Anyway,” Clarke continued, attempting to discreetly fan at her face, “Octavia and I really need the car. You don’t even need to go anywhere. Your car is begging to be used, not become a permanent parking lot fixture.” Bellamy’s frown deepened.

“I’m amazed at your ability to convince me less with every second this conversation goes on.”

Miller spooned more frosted flakes into his mouth, desperately wishing he remembered to bring his phone with him, so he could update the Have Bellamy and Clarke Boned Yet group chat. The name was not his choice, but Jasper’s, and whenever someone tried to change it, Jasper would just change it back, so. Jasper was the only one who seemed personally invested in the way Clarke and Bellamy’s relationship was going because he was using it as a way to distract himself from Octavia’s budding relationship with the huge bartender at Polis. Miller would be more critical if he wasn’t also using them to make himself feel better about his floundering attempts to date Monty.

During this self-reflection, Miller somehow missed Clarke get up from the table and stand toe to toe with Bellamy at the door. They were speaking in low whispers, glaring at each other with enough intensity that Miller couldn’t look at them for very long without feeling uncomfortable. Miller briefly considered taking the enemies-turned-lovers route, but the idea of Monty being his enemy made him feel like he was also considering drop kicking a puppy into a volcano, so he decided against it. Clearly, another course of action would be required.

Miller dropped his spoon into the bowl when he saw Clarke place a hand on Bellamy’s chest and stand on her tiptoes to whisper something in his ear. Had they forgotten he was there? They lived on the third floor, so escaping out of the window wasn’t an option. They were blocking the only exit, and Miller had nothing but a blanket and a bowl of frosted flakes to defend himself. He imagined dying of secondhand embarrassment in Bellamy’s room because he wasn’t able to handle Murphy waking up at seven am, and realized that his mother would probably be disappointed in him as her son, and as a human being in general.

Just then, Clarke moved away, a triumphant grin on her face, and plucked the keys off the command hook Bellamy had stuck on the wall beside the door. She breezed out of the room with a cheerful “Thanks, Bell!” and a “Bye Miller!”

Bellamy stood in the doorway long after she had left, looking like he’d just gotten hit by a truck.

“Dude,” Miller said finally. “What the hell.”

Bellamy blinked slowly a few times, his gaze focusing on a spot above Miller’s head. He scowled. He shut the door and flopped down onto his bed, throwing an arm over his eyes to avoid Miller’s (admittedly smug and mocking) expression.

“Shut the fuck up and eat your shitty frosted flakes,” Bellamy said without heat, effectively ending the conversation.

Miller tried and failed to hold in his laughter as he fished the spoon out of the bowl, and imagined the heart attack Jasper was going to have when the group chat heard about this.


End file.
